Forgotten
Crimson rivers flow in baron lands,
Whilst money grows in another's hands.
Like scenes seen in a sepia age,
Sandstorms rage; Rust, dust & beige.
The air riddled with whistles,
Not of joy, but of ballistic missiles.
The decay of today fades,
Lost among the decay of an age.
Lands will be re-trodden,
And these natives re-forgotten.
Modern arms now litter the paths,
Along with modern legs, lungs & hearts.
Was this scene foreseen in the forefathers’ eyes?
Because this scene has just seen four fathers die.
Copyright © Jovial Vigilante | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment